


No matter what we find there

by nuitbleue



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Late at Night, Oneshot, ambiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuitbleue/pseuds/nuitbleue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of an exhausting day, Vanessa contemplates her love for Ethan. Drabble/Oneshot. No Spoilers for season 3, takes place sometime in season 2 I'd say. Title taken from Feist's song "Fire in the Water". Have fun reading. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No matter what we find there

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. This started out as a spontaneous drabble scribbled down in the middle of the night when I was in need of an outlet for some emotions after a confusing weekend. Now it’s something between a drabble and a oneshot, I’d say. This might be a bit fluffy or kitschy as I was feeling rather sensitive and emotional as I wrote it. The title is a line from the wonderfully ethereal song “Fire in the Water” by Feist which inspired this. There are no spoilers for season 3 so it can be read by people who haven't seen it yet. I hope you enjoy reading this and I’d be beyond happy about comments. :)

No Matter What We Find There

Cobblestones.  
There are so many of them in this city, she thinks. 

When she is lying down, she feels like she can almost hear them as they are touched by each and every drop of rain water falling down from above like it never stops. 

Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow it will stop. 

She wants them to go to church tomorrow. Sunday.

But now, on this starless and moonless Saturday night the rain falls. She can see it dripping from rooftops and gargoyles and corners and tips of other buildings akin to that they are seeking shelter in. 

She watches his tall figure as he pulls the white cotton close. Now they are beyond it. Beyond the dark night wherein the rain seems to go on forever. 

She feels her head sink even deeper down on the white pillow. Her hair finally falls free. 

The day that is now behind them has been confusing and too long. It has seemed to drag on and last like a fever that cannot be cooled down.  
She still feels faintly nauseated. There are these days. 

She watches him draw the curtains close.

Her chest aches from having worn the corset for so long today. If she could leave it forever, she would. But that would not be proper, so she wears it. 

There are other things she does. Like watching him when he cannot see her. 

And now, claiming a space in his room. She wishes this room would stand symbolically for his heart. She wants, she longs to know she has a place there, that somewhere in his heart, there she is.  
But she will not ask. Not yet.

As long as he is with her, she can close her eyes and know he will not leave.  
She can pray with her eyes closed without fearing the forces of darkness that never cease to remind them of their existence. 

She can be herself.

She thinks for the duration of a second that all she had ever wanted to be was human. It is a revelation that comes to her in a flash. 

All she ever wanted to be was a human being.  
A human.  
A woman.

And now, lying in the semi-darkness of his room that is not yet officially his, but so definitely is, she is sure that this is what she feels like with him. 

When he is there, she is a woman.  
When he is there, she is human.

She could watch him forever. 

The rain seems louder now that she is leaving her thoughts and returning to the present. Its rushing a familiar sound. Safety, she feels, is what it means to her. 

He leaves the single candle. 

“I don’t want to dream”, she hears herself utter, almost a whisper. 

He sits down by her side. 

He reminds her of something ancient in moments like these, offering protection, relentlessly and without judgment or conditions. He looks at her. 

“There are good dreams”, he replies.  
His voice warms her. 

“But so few and so rare they are”, she whispers. 

He does not touch her yet. She longs to feel his fingertips against her hair. 

Is it childish, selfish to love someone so wholly, without distance, without reserve, without ever seeing another but them in their fantasies?

A mother she has been, in one of those fantasies that catch her off guard. A woman. A human mother. To Ethan’s children.

The familiar feeling that overcomes her whenever the thought arises sweeps back into her mind. 

This man makes her feel like she could be anything. With him by her side. 

He smiles at her in that moment and she feels her fingers by her ear, stroking her hair and before she is aware of what she is doing, her hand folds itself around his. His skin is so warm on hers there. 

She breathes in his scent, she hears the rain rushing outside. His lips on her forehead, brushing tenderly. 

“But those good dreams”, he says then, “they are meant to show us what we can be. If we believe in them.”

“And do you?” she asks, desiring reassurance more than anything. More than his nearness even.

He smiles. A faint smile, but a soft one. He only ever smiles at her like this, she has noticed. His half-smiles are for others.

“Someone told me to once when I was not so sure”, he replies. “And I’m willing to believe she is right.”

He lies down next to her moments later and he does not touch her, but he is so very close. 

They see each other’s breathing even in the almost-darkness of his room. The rushing of the rain does not cease. A familiar sound of safety. 

She softly, carefully places her hand into his. 

She sees his brown eyes glimmer as he smiles. There is a moment of reassurance. Now he is the one who needs it. 

Does he not know that her heart has always been his? That he is in every sense the only one?

She exhales deeply, it almost shakes her small frame. He draws her close, slowly, so she rests against him. 

The familiar rushing of the rain mixes with his scent, his presence that is as close, as familiar to her as her own breathing. 

He is all she needs.

The dream she has that night is a good one.


End file.
